


The Tutor

by Janina



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Georgian Period, Jon is a male prostitute, Masturbation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sansa is married, Slow Burn, but unhappy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-05-30 04:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15088820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina
Summary: Set in 1835. Lady Sansa is newly wed to Lord Harry Hardyng and their marriage is thus far not a success. Her husband doesn’t seem to want to spend any time with her, and he is not interested in visiting her bed. Thinking all she needs to do is learn how to seduce him, she seeks the help of Jon Snow, a famed male prostitute making his way through the ladies of the ton. Sansa is about to learn more than just seduction.(Based on the book, The Lady's Tutor by Robin Schone).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asongforjonsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongforjonsa/gifts), [israfel00](https://archiveofourown.org/users/israfel00/gifts).



> Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies: I hope this puts a smile on your face. 
> 
> asongforjonsa: love ya, babe. Thank you for all your support! 
> 
> israfel00: Thank you so much for all your help!

[](https://imgur.com/OdXvVyJ)

**Wintertown, England 1835**

Lady Sansa Hardyng, nee Stark, hoped that Jon Snow was kind. She’d never had any interaction with a prostitute before, and never would she have thought she’d find herself on her way to see one. And a man to boot. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Would he be half naked when he greeted her? She blushed at the thought. Would he have company lying about in various states of undress on plump satin pillows strewn about his drawing room? Most importantly - would he try to seduce her?

Now her whole body felt engulfed in flames. 

She shouldn’t be thinking such things, that was for certain. But it was what this visit was all about. Seduction. Namely her seducing her husband Harry, specifically, not about _being_ seduced.

It was a sad state of affairs that Sansa’s marriage was not what she’d expected. Harry seemed to have grown tired of her shortly after their nuptials and she was rather certain he had a mistress. It was the only thing she could think of to explain how he was rarely at home and didn’t seem all that interested in visiting her bed. It was clear she did not possess whatever it was that kept men home; kept them in their wives beds. That is, if they had a love a match. Theirs hadn’t been - it had been as cold as most of the marriages of the _ton_. It was all about money and station. 

She knew nothing about what she was supposed to do to keep Harry happy, or at least interested in her, so, here she was. 

The idea had been planted one evening when she’d come upon a juicy bit of gossip while attending the Lannister ball. She had been eavesdropping behind a rather tall plant and heard that Lady Cersei had taken a lover, a _male prostitute_ no less, and that lover was none other than Jon Snow. According to what she’d overheard, Jon Snow was the bastard son of an English Countess who had died giving birth to him in Lys, and that, aside from the fact that he was quite versed in the art of pleasuring a woman carnally, was all anyone knew about him. No mention of a father. Not even the name of the Countess had been discovered. It was speculated that Jon Snow was not even his real name. 

No one doubted though, that it was in Lys that he had learned all about sex and seduction. 

It was quite scandalous. 

And, if Sansa was honest with herself, intriguing. 

“He was learned at fucking,” Cersei had said crassly, which had caused Sansa to fan herself even harder on the other side of the plant that had hidden her, “He certainly knows how to pleasure a woman, but I discovered that even I was able to teach him a few things.”

Sansa had rolled her eyes then, imagining that had been delivered with a knowing smirk. 

Cersei Lannister was the _worst_. A few choice words she’d heard her sister use to describe the other woman came to mind, but those were words Sansa would never say out loud. A Lady never did. Nonetheless, Cersei was all of them. The words she could say to describe her were cruel, haughty, snobbish, a liar, and a sneak. And, she was a philanderer, but then so was her husband. 

However, Cersei going on and on about Jon Snow had planted the seed in Sansa’s mind. Perhaps she could seek Jon’s help in seducing Harry. If she could learn how to please her aloof husband, then perhaps they could find the happiness her parents had. Theirs had not started as a love match either, but it had certainly grown into one. Why couldn’t she have that, too? 

Now as she rambled through an unsavory part of the city, and discreetly peered out of the sheer curtain, she felt both anxious and excited. This was scandalous, visiting a male prostitute, and yet part of her felt the thrill of doing such a thing. If she was caught, the tongues would wag! She’d no longer be someone that everyone seemed to forget. 

The coach stopped and Sansa tugged on her hat, dipping it low over her face to avoid detection. The door opened and her footman helped her out. She stood before a brick building that did not appear in shambles as she’d imagined. He _was_ in demand by ladies of the ton after all and he was the son of a Countess so perhaps he’d had some form of an inheritance? 

Going up the stone steps that led to Jon Snow’s home, she let her footman announce her by way of her card. The butler showed her to Jon Snow’s drawing room and then left to see if he would see her. Sansa took a moment to take the room in. Dark wood and enticingly extravagant chairs trimmed with gold, and a sofa and loveseat that appeared to be velvet colored in lush reds and purples made Sansa want to run her fingers over everything. The walls were cream and a deep red of swirling designs. Stacks of pillows in the same reds and purples sat in corners of the room. 

The room felt warm and inviting. Decadent, really. Everything looked so incredibly comfortable, not like the stiff furniture she and Harry owned in their townhouse. 

She had just reached out to touch the softness of the sofa when the door opened and shut. 

She whirled around and her eyes locked on a set of grey. She took a step back. “Hello, uh, Mr. Snow?”

His full lips pursed together, his black beard twitched, and he looked her over in a way that made her feel as Harry did: as though she was lacking. Her day dress that day was a soft green trimmed with cream silk. It was modest, as day dresses were wont to be, and she still wore her matching hat. 

While he looked his fill of her, she looked her fill of him. 

She did not find _him_ lacking. 

He was...well, beautiful. Though she wasn’t sure he would appreciate that, or that any man would really, but he was. His dark hair fell to his shoulders in curls and Sansa wondered if the women he took to his bed played with all those curls. Dark brows and long lashes framed those grey eyes, and combined with those lips and that beard, the effect was devastating. 

And then there was his physique that no woman should appraise unless their name was Cersei Lannister. His shoulders were broad, his stature perhaps a few inches taller than she. He looked strong, even in the loose red shirt her wore over black breeches. And - goodness! - he was barefoot. 

Sansa blushed, realizing now that she had taken in the full picture, that Jon Snow was in a state of dishabille. Upon closer inspection he appeared a bit tired, too. He had some circles under those arresting eyes and his lids were half mast. 

“Who are you?” he asked. He sounded annoyed. His voice was deep, rough, and had a hint of a Valyrian accent. 

She liked it. 

“I’m, uh, I’m Lady Sansa. I’ve--I’ve come to seek your help.” Only when she was nervous did she stumble on her words. She hated that about herself. 

“For what, Lady Sansa?” He smirked. “A charity donation for the orphans? For your church?”

“No-no - for me,” she said. He quirked a brow and she cleared her throat. “That is to say, not a charity donation, but I have come to seek your help in, well, in the art of, uh…” She swallowed, feeling suddenly quite parched, “Seduction.”

He started to laugh. Heartily. 

Sansa wanted to both cry and shout at him for that. 

“And who is it you wish to seduce?” he asked. 

“My husband.”

“Your husband,” he repeated. 

“Yes.”

“What is it you want of him? Jewels? Gowns? What do you need to seduce him for?”

She furrowed her brow. “Not jewels or-or gowns. I want - I want our marriage to grow into a love match. I’m certain, you see, that he has a mistress, and if I could just capture his attention in the bedchamber then perhaps he wouldn’t have need to stray. Perhaps he could learn to love me and our marriage would be real and--”

He held up a hand. “Stop,” he said softly. 

Slowly, he came toward her, studying her, and then circled her. Sansa stood still, feeling on display and wondering what it was he was thinking. Was he listing all her faults? All the reasons why Harry didn’t want her?

“Many women come to me wanting all sort of things,” he murmured. “Never has one asked for love.”

She didn’t know what to say. 

He stood in front of her now. “I’m not sure I can help you, Lady Sansa. What you’re seeking...I’m not sure I can help you achieve that.”

“What is wrong with me then?” she asked softly. Her eyes stung from embarrassment. He _did_ find her lacking, just as Harry did. 

“What’s _wrong_ with you?” 

“There must be if you don’t think you can help me.”

Jon stared in bewilderment at the beautiful woman before him. This beautiful woman with big blue eyes, a rosebud mouth, and red hair peeking out under her hat. She cut a svelte figure, and an impressive bosom and Jon, for the life of him, could not comprehend anyone finding _anything_ wrong with her. 

He’d heard all sorts of stories from the women who came to see him. Some he felt truly sorry for. Lady Sansa was one of them. No, she wasn’t being beaten at home by her husband, but she was suffering from the sort of affliction that struck him more often than not. A debilitating ailment that sometimes felt crippling. 

Lady Sansa was lonely. 

More than that, she felt that her loneliness was a direct effect of something she’d done. Or not done, as the case may be. Her husband’s lack of interest and almost certain involvement with a mistress made this gorgeous creature think she was the one responsible for his straying, for the lack of love and affection in their marriage. Yet instead of seeking out a paramour of her own as most women of the _ton_ did, she instead sought help to fix the problem. To “fix” herself for her wayward and neglectful husband.

It made him hurt for her. As did the tears that spilled down her cheeks and the despair in her eyes. His father had often teased him for his inability to stand idly by while a woman cried. It was just not in his nature. 

And there was such a desperation about Lady Sansa that spoke to those nights he had alone when he felt bereft of any true connection to another. He indeed felt desperate on those nights, desperate for some soul to just _see_ him. To accept him. The women who saw him weren’t looking for a connection; they were looking for pleasure and for someone to _see_ them. But no one ever saw him. 

Love wasn’t a certainty, and seducing someone didn’t mean they’d fall in love with you. He’d seduced women who never felt anything for him outside of the pleasure he could bring them, and he’d had women attempt to seduce him and felt nothing for them outside of what pleasure they could bring him in return. There were the rare occasions when a woman did think herself in love with him, but it wasn’t real. Many women equated sex and the pleasure from it with love. 

But perhaps there was something he could help Lady Sansa find. All buttoned up as she was, as desperate as she was, it was clear she lacked confidence. Maybe he could help her find some.

“I’ll help you,” he said softly. 

She looked stunned. Her bottom lip quivered. “You--you will?”

He nodded. “Come tomorrow at noon. Can you make it?”

She nodded emphatically as though afraid he’d take it all back if she hesitated for even a second. “Yes, yes, I can. I will. Thank you, Mr. Snow.”

“Please call me Jon, Sansa. Otherwise I’ll feel I should stand in front of a blackboard with chalk.”

She smiled somewhat wanly. “It will take some getting used to, calling you by your first name.”

“Try it now.”

She licked her lips. “Good day, Jon, and thank you.”

He smiled, though he was certain it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good day, Sansa. See you tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone! :)

“I think Cook rather outdid herself tonight, don’t you?” Sansa asked her husband infusing her tone with as much cheeriness as she could muster.

It was difficult at this point. She was failing. She’d already asked how his day had been and he’d given her a withdrawn, “It went well”. Then she’d commented on the weather and he’d just nodded. 

“Mmm,” Harry hummed his agreement as he stabbed a piece of pheasant with his fork. 

“The sauce she made is exceptional,” Sansa tried. “I can ask her to make it again if you’d like.”

“Whatever you like.” He sounded bored. All she saw was the top of his blond head at dinner, and the back of it as he walked away from her and out the door every day and every evening. 

Sansa cut into her pheasant, racking her brain for another topic. “I saw the funniest little hat in a store window--”

Harry put his utensils down with a clang and looked at her with something close to exasperation. His blue eyes pierced through her. “Sansa, must we talk? Can we not dine in silence?”

Sansa felt as though he’d slapped her. “Of course,” she murmured and swallowed back the lump in her throat. She looked down at her plate, hoping the tears that stung her eyes did not fall. Harry hated tears. He thought they were a women’s manipulation. 

He said nothing though, and after a few minutes of silence that felt as though an eternity had passed, Harry stood. “I’m off to the club.” 

And then he was gone. 

Servants came to clear his plate and Sansa sat back and bid them wearily to take hers as well. She was embarrassed. No doubt they’d be talking down in the kitchen about how Harry had asked her to stop talking. She supposed they probably also gossiped about how Harry rarely spent any time at home, and when he did, they were always in separate rooms. If they weren’t, then it was much like tonight - sitting together in utter silence. 

She’d tried talking to her mother about this chasm between them, and Catelyn had told her to just “give it time”. How much time could she give it? Wasn’t six months plenty?

Harry visited her bed in the beginning after they’d been married and he had talked to her - mostly about himself - but then it had dwindled down to once a month and hardly any interaction. She lived with a stranger. 

And she didn’t know how to go about gaining his attention. They attended balls together, but he was always off with the men and she with the women. She wore dresses her modiste assured her would entice her husband, but...nothing. 

He had to have a mistress. Perhaps even a by-blow by now. 

Was this to be her life? Living virtually alone in a townhouse fit for a family that she did not yet have? She had come from a large family - three brothers and a sister - and she was used the sound of laughter, the pounding of footsteps and just _noise_. Now she felt as though she lived in a tomb and thought, or rather hoped, that if Harry just visited her bed more often things would change. At the very least, he could get her with child. Then she wouldn’t be so alone. There were only so many trips she could make to her parents home in Winterfell. It wasn’t that it was a terribly long trip, but long enough. 

She just wanted to make this marriage work. And for that she needed Harry on board for she was willing to do her part. 

The tears she’d held back came freely now and she hoped with all her might that Jon Snow would be able to help her turn things around. 

xxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa arrived at noon, just as she said she would. She believed in being punctual and since she had no engagements that afternoon, there was no reason for her to not be on time. And there was no one to tell where she was going. Harry had already left for the day by the time she’d gotten up. 

This time when she was showed into the drawing room, Jon Snow was waiting for her. He was dressed in a red and gold brocade robe and a pair of breeches, and again, barefoot. She could see a hint of his broad chest through the V his robe made, and she averted her eyes to his face. 

He was grinning slyly as if he’d caught her looking, and lounging back in his sofa in a most obscene manner: legs stretched out before him, head against the back of the couch, his body low in the seat. He looked about ready for a nap, not to see a visitor. 

Or, possibly, he had just come home considering the robe…

Sansa felt her cheeks heat as she gingerly sat down in the chair opposite him. She placed her reticule on her lap and folded her hands around it. 

Jon grinned as he sat up. “Well, you’re quite the picture of prim and proper this afternoon.”

She frowned. “Is that a compliment?”

He laughed, a deep rumble that seemed to come from his toes. He sat up straight and copied her posture and the folded hands. “You tell me.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m teasing you,” he said with a soft smile. “How are you this afternoon, Sansa?”

“I am well, thank you. And you? Are you well?”

He looked surprised by the question. “I am, Sansa, thank you for asking.”

“I drafted a contract last night,” she said as she opened her reticule. 

“A contract?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling it out. “It’s really just some concerns put to paper.”

“For example.”

“For example, the first item is discretion and how imperative it is.”

“Naturally. I am always discreet about my clients - what was that just then?”

She looked at him, blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The face you just made when I said I was always discreet about my clients.”

She frowned slightly and looked down at the paper while mumbling, “It sounded odd to hear - that I am a client.”

“In a sense you are, but a special kind.”

Now she looked positively deflated. “Because I am so hopeless?”

Jon got up and knelt beside her chair. He took the reticule and contract from her hands and set them down on the floor. “No, Sansa,” he said gently. “Because you are not here for the usual reasons.”

She bit her lip. “Oh.”

He smiled and reached out, brushing some hair from her brow. “Are you aware that you are beautiful, Sansa?”

Her eyes widened. “I - well, I mean I know I’m not hideous, and Harry said I was pretty when he took me to bed on our wedding night, but not since and - no. No, I wasn’t.”

“You are,” he said softly, smiling gently at her. “But perhaps we could do something about the coat you still have on and your hat? Let’s take them off.”

“Oh, um, all right then,” she said and hurried to her feet. 

Jon rose to his feet and helped her with her coat as any gentleman would do. He had the thought that if she was a normal sort of client, he would kiss the spot where her stray curls fell against the back of her neck. Ladies like Sansa always smelled divine, and being this close to her, he caught the scent of roses. 

Her hat came next and she handed it to him, patting her hair to ensure no strands had escaped the coiffure she had it up in. Jon wanted to ask if she could pull the pins from her hair so he could see it all in its red flame glory, but he sensed that now was not the time. Not yet. 

“Better?” he asked. 

“Yes, thank you,” she said and sat back down. 

He placed her jacket and hat upon the sofa and sat down as well. Free of the hat now, Jon looked his fill of her. His first thought was that her husband was stupid. Here he had a stunning woman such as Sansa for a wife and he didn’t visit her bed? 

He decided his thoughts were perhaps best shared. “Your husband is an idiot.”

Her jaw dropped open. “Pardon?” 

“He’s an idiot if he never visits your bed. You are a gorgeous woman, Sansa, and any man, apparently other than your husband of course, would fall over themselves to be with you.”

She fell silent, seeming to turn his words over in her mind. Her cheeks were red, so he’d definitely shocked and embarrassed her. But she needed a little shocking. Sansa was gorgeous and she didn’t know she was. She deserved to know. 

“I think we should look at the contract now,” she said and bent to grab it from the floor. 

Jon held up a hand as he leaned over to stop her. She looked up, hand in mid-reach, and looked at him. “Sansa, when someone pays you a compliment is it not customary to say thank you?”

She nodded, sitting back up. “Yes, of course, I apologize. Thank you, Jon.”

“Do you believe what I said? Do you find truth in it?”

“No.”

He met her gaze. “By the time we’re finished, you will.” 

He hoped. 

“The contract then,” she said. But then Jon snatched it up before she could. 

“No touching?” He looked at her. “Sansa, there has to be touching.”

“I will not engage in an affair,” she said stiffly. 

“You won’t be. It will all be quite meaningless, merely for tutorial purposes only I assure you.”

“Only when absolutely necessary then.”

“Obviously.” His eyes cast back to the contract. “You’re leaving the sum up to me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have money?”

“Yes.”

“That your husband would not miss?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain?”

“I have money under my control to do with what I wish,” she said primly. “It was part of the marriage contract.”

“All these contracts,” he muttered. “How bothersome.”

“How much do you want, Jon?”

“Five thousand pounds.”

She nodded once. “Done.”

“That was almost too easy. I should have asked for more.”

“Yes, well, it’s done now.”

He held up a hand. “I haven’t signed yet. I’m not done.”

“There really isn’t much to it. Discretion, no touching - which we will now have an addendum to - and no putting me in dangerous situations.”

His expression was one of horror. “Just how awful is sex with Harry? Does he fuck you while hanging from a tree?”

“Please don’t be crude.”

“Sansa, it’s going to get crude.”

“I’ve heard stories of men sharing women with their friends,” she blurted out. 

“I would not and have not ever done that--”

“That is wonderful to hear.”

“--unless the woman wanted it. And she has always been kept safe. I do not mistreat my clients. Nothing will be done to put you in harm’s way. I am discreet about all the women who come to see me, and I will ask you before I touch you. Is there anything else?”

“No,” she said slowly. 

“Then once you make that addendum, I’ll sign it.” He leaned over and stuffed it back into her reticule. “Shall we start then?”

She frowned. “Do you have a writing utensil I could use?”

“For what?” 

“To take notes.”

Jon burst out laughing which caused Sansa to scowl. “You don’t need to take notes, dear girl,” he told her. “Your first task is visit the French modiste in town buy yourself some lingerie. I want it to be something you like, something of your own choosing. My only criteria is that it shows off your bosom, is silk, and has plenty of lace. When you try it on, I want it to be something that feels like heaven on your skin. Bring it with you the next time you come.”

“You want me to buy lingerie,” she repeated. Was he jesting?

“Yes.”

“And you want me to bring it with me the next time I come.”

“Yes. I’ll give you three days.”

“Will you require me to wear it once I bring it here?”

“Of course.”

“Jon…”

“Sansa, you want to learn about _seduction_. You’ll have to accept that sex, negligee, _some_ touching, intimacy, and words like cunt and cock will be bandied about. I’ll not take liberties, Sansa, but this is part of the lesson. Can you do that? If you can’t, then we are unable to continue.”

Well then. When put in those terms, how could she back down? And this was what she’d come here for; to learn. Granted, she had imagined he’d lecture and she’d take notes as to what to do, but she supposed that was not only naive of her, but unrealistic too. In order to do a proper job of seducing her husband, she couldn’t follow a set of notes on how to do it, she had to learn how to actually _do it._

How much did she want a happy marriage?

She thought of how empty the townhouse was when she was all alone. She thought of constantly seeing the back of Harry’s head, and how he’d spoken to her last night. 

She nodded. “I only have one question.”

“Yes?”

“Should it be something _I_ like or something I think _Harry_ might like?”

“What _you_ like,” he said, and sounded a bit irritated by her question. 

“But--”

“Get the piece you like and come back in three days,” he said firmly and got to his feet. “Good day, Sansa.”

And then he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gorgeous banner by @asongforjonsa! Thank you, love!

[](https://imgur.com/sbGi9js)

Jon rolled onto his back on the bed, panting, his body slick with sweat. The rose silk sheets underneath him felt cool for a few seconds and then they just felt hot and clingy. 

And, speaking of clingy… the woman next to him cuddled up into his side, her bounteous bosom pressing into arm. They were like pillows those breasts, and while Jon had enjoyed them thoroughly while fucking her, he preferred at the moment to have them, and the woman attached to them, gone. 

He felt this way often after sex, though he knew that this part, the after part, was the most important part for a woman. They wanted to feel special and cared for in some way. They wanted to know that he, a man who had had many women, enjoyed them. 

So, instead of begging off, Jon wound an arm around the voluptuous baggage and squeezed her into him. He smiled instead of winced. An older woman trapped in a marriage in which both parties barely tolerated each other, Lady Wilhelmina craved closeness. “How do you feel now, Willehmena?” he asked. “Less tense?

She’d been in a bit of a rage when she’d arrived earlier that evening. She and her husband had had a row concerning some debt he’d racked up at the tailors that he’d never paid back, and she had railed about to Jon for a good fifteen minutes before he had taken her up into one of the three bedchambers he actually used - two for his clients, and one all for himself.

He’d had the room readied specifically to what he knew Lady Wilhelmina would like: rose silk sheets, plump pillows, candlelight, and fresh red roses. 

To help calm her rattled nerves, he first undressed her and then had her lay on her stomach on the bed and he’d used a special rose oil she liked to massage her tense shoulders and back. He’d of course then segued into readying her for a good and proper fucking. 

Her now pale lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Much, much better. Oh, Jon, that was wonderful! How do _you_ feel?” 

He heard the edge of worry in her voice and smiled indulgently at her. “I feel positively decadent,” he purred. “My only regret is that you’ve depleted me so completely, I don’t think I have another go in me tonight. You brought my passion to such heights and utterly unmanned me, my dear.”

She giggled, a blush rising on her cheeks. She tweaked his nose which he _hated_ and then ran her hand through his damp locks. “I can’t stay anyway. My sod of a husband will be returning from the gaming tables soon.” She made a face. “That’s all we need. More debt.” She shook herself out of her maudlin thoughts and peered at him hopefully. “But I’ll call on you?”

“You know what to do.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. 

“Mmm,” she moaned and slid her hand down to his now flaccid cock. She gave it an affectionate little squeeze and Jon fought the urge to grind his teeth. “I certainly do. I will send word when I’m ready again.”

“Yes, my dear, please do,” he murmured and gently grasped her hand fondling him and brushed an ardent kiss across her knuckles. She beamed at him, pleased by his attentions. 

She rose, thank the Gods, and Jon watched her as she put on a little show of rolling up her hose over her thick legs and then bending over to show off her dangling breasts as she plucked her corset from the floor. 

It was a nice corset. Red and black striped and sucked in Lady Willehmena’s waistline. He thought to tell her he liked her curves better without the corset, but that was just an invitation for her to attempt another round. She had a husband to get home to before he returned from his gambling, and Jon wanted that bath. There was no time. 

Instead, as Jon rose to assist her in dressing, he found himself wondering what sort of pieces Sansa would show him. He’d wondered about that more than once over the past couple days. He couldn’t decide if she’d purchase a pair of hose in some other color than white and call that decadent enough, or if she’d actually purchase something like a chemise with some lace. He wanted her to bring a corset like the one Lady Wilhelmina wore. In blue. Sansa would look beautiful in blue. 

Once, Lady Wilhelmina was dressed, Jon slid her arm through his and led her to the back door. He helped her with her cloak, and before she put the hood down low to cover her face, she leaned up and kissed him deeply. With one last saucy smile, she left. 

Jon breathed a sigh of relief and went to send for a bath to be prepared for him, and for the bedchamber he used to fuck Lady Wilhelmina in to be cleaned up. Once he’d washed up he’d be able to slip inside his own bed in his own bedchamber and sleep. 

xxxxxxxxxxx

It took Sansa two days to enter the lingerie shop. 

She’d gone with the best of intentions...and then promptly walked right past it. 

She’d seen some ladies go in and out when she’d stood on the other side of the street and discreetly watched the storefront while attempting to muster up the courage to go in. 

It was the fact that she preferred to complete her tasks when given them, and the fact that her deadline was the next afternoon that Sansa let herself into the shop and then promptly ducked behind a dummy to hide herself. 

Her eyes darted around, attempting to assess what she wanted to look at when someone poked her on the shoulder. 

Sansa jumped and let out a little shriek as she spun around. Standing there was a woman she’d recognized as one of the employees of the shop. She had red hair, blue eyes, a warm smile, and a bosom that could perhaps double as a place to rest a glass of lemonade. 

“Hello, mademoiselle, my name is Ros,” she said in a French accent. “May I help you?”

Sansa opened her mouth but no sound came out. 

“Are you well, mademoiselle?” Ros asked, her dark brown brows furrowing in concern. 

“I- uh- that is - I was hoping to find some…” She cleared her throat. “Undergarments.”

Ros broke into a wide smile. “Anything in particular, mademoiselle? A color you would prefer?”

“Uh, I - what do you -- that is, what do you suggest?”

Ros appeared pleased as she took hold of Sansa’s arm and steered her through the shop to an archway that led deeper into a back where the changing rooms were. A platform stood in the middle of the room and a basket of needles, thread, and scissors sat upon it. Mirrors in a half-moon shape were before it past that were the changing rooms. They weren’t very large, and the only covering was white curtain that one could pull back and forth. 

“Are you looking for undergarments that will be _seen_? Ros asked, her tone dropping low and discreet. 

Jon had told her not to get something that Harry would like, but something _she_ would like. But wasn’t the point that one day Harry _would_ see it? Yet she had no idea what Harry would even like, truth be told, so perhaps she should stick to the original task and get what she liked. 

She had _no idea_ what she liked though.

Sansa figured perhaps honesty was best. “I am looking for something for me, but I am not sure what to get. Something with lace, I know that, but outside of that I do not. I’ve never put any thought into my undergarments before, not beyond making sure they were serviceable.” A corset on a dummy behind Ros caught her eye and she pointed to it. “That is rather pretty.”

Ros turned. “The corset?”

Sansa nodded. “I like the color. It reminds me of ice.”

Ros smiled. “Well then. I suppose we have a place to start. Do you know your measurements, mademoiselle?”

Sansa had had a feeling that would be a question she’d get and had taken pains to ensure she did in fact have those figures. She lifted her reticule. “I wrote them down; they are in here.”

“Well, then, let’s see what we have.”

xxxxxxxxx

By the time Sansa returned home, she was exhausted. 

But, dare she say it, happy. And rather excited, too. 

She’d ended up with far more than the corset, and it had all cost more than she’d planned to spend, but the whole experience had actually been _fun_. Not to mention hard work. She felt as though she’d taken laps around Godswood Park from all the undergarments she’d tried on. 

Now, alone in her bedchamber, she spread her purchases carefully on the bed. They felt so decadent, so… _special_ somehow, that she felt like a young girl again with a new dress. She just wanted to put them on! 

The white hose was made of the finest silk and topped with lace, and though they would do little to keep her warm in the winter months, they would provide her with relief in the summer. She fingered the material now and felt a rush of pleasure. She’d felt positively scandalous when she had been able to see her flesh through the material. It wasn’t something she should indulge in but Jon had told her to get what she liked. Who would have thought she’d like something so deliciously naughty?

Next, was the garter which matched her corset in color - such a pale blue it reminded her of ice. The garter had a swirling pattern of darker blues cutting across it and when Sansa passed her fingers across it, she could feel the embroidery caressing the tips of her fingers. 

The chemise she’d purchased was trimmed in that same blue, and was light and airy and just as see-through as her hose. Sansa giggled a bit as she fingered the material, and then she sighed with happiness when she stroked over the corset. 

It was the blue corset she’d seen, and Ros had found the last one in her size. Silk and yet stiff from whalebone, it had white embroidery from top to bottom and all around, and had just a hint of lace trim. It flattered her figure in a way none of her other corsets had done. Ros had gone on at great length at how beautiful it looked on her with her red hair and pale skin. 

Sansa had been unable to stop looking at herself in the mirror in the shop. She’d turned from side to side and just stared. That was _her_ in the mirror? She’d looked transformed. _Beautiful_ , she’d thought, but didn’t dare say aloud. 

And then there was the petticoat. Lace at the top and lace at the bottom; it was lighter than her other petticoats, and yet stiff enough to create the shape she needed under her dresses. 

She wanted to put them all on now again and stare some more at herself, but she didn’t want to indulge that part of herself. She wasn’t Cersei Lannister preening in the mirror and acting like a conceited cow for goodness sake. Besides, she had some household matters to tend to, and Harry would perhaps be home in time for supper. She had responsibilities to tend to. 

Tomorrow she would wear them and complete her next task: showing Jon while they were _on_ her. 

As she gathered the items to hang up she told herself that she could do this. She was paying him to help her, and besides, he saw so many women that to see her would mean absolutely nothing. 

xxxxxxxxxxx

Jon smiled from his spot on his sofa as Sansa swept inside and then he stood to assist her in taking off her cloak and hat. Some curls tumbled free of her chignon and she brushed them hastily aside. 

“How are you on this fine day, Sansa?” he asked cordially. 

“Tell me, Jon, will there be a day when you will be _dressed_ when I arrive?” she asked, looking him over. 

He barked out a laugh. “Now, why would I bother with that when I know how it disrupts your delicate sensibilities when you find me in nothing but my robe and breeches?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. 

“Would you like me to send for some tea?” he asked her. 

Though, from the look of her perhaps tea was not what she needed. She had her hands fisted in her skirt and she was nibbling on her bottom lip while looking everywhere but at him. She was standing still, too - perhaps considering making a run for it. 

He’d expected her nerves today. 

“No, thank you,” she said primly. 

Without a word, Jon went to his bar to pour her some brandy. He came up to her with the glass in hand and held it up. “Have a drink. You need it.”

Her eyes went wide. “Jon--”

He took hold of one hand and clutched it in his. Her skin was soft and her hands felt so small in his. “Sansa, look at me, please,” he said gently. 

Their eyes met and he felt a jolt of something go through him. What it was, he wasn’t sure, only that it took his breath away. “Sansa, you’ve no reason to be afraid. I won’t bite you.”

“I know that,” she muttered. 

“Not unless you ask me to, anyway,” he teased. 

She pursed her lips and yanked her hand away from his. 

“Take the drink, Sansa,” he commanded softly. 

She sighed and took the glass from him. She knocked it back and then coughed violently. Jon patted her back gently while guiding her to the center of the room. He took her glass and set it down and then grabbed both her hands in his. “Better?”

“I am not sure yet.”

He grinned. “Give it a minute. Perhaps another might speed up the process.”

“No, no, one was quite enough thank you.”

“Why don’t you sit and tell me how the trip to the lingerie shop went?”

She sat and began her tale, starting with how she’d avoided going inside the first two days, and how she’d hidden behind a dummy when she finally did go in. 

“But then this woman, Ros, she owns the shop, she came up to me and stayed with me the whole time,” Sansa told him. “At first I wasn’t certain about what to get but then I saw - well, I saw the corset first.”

Jon smiled. “What did it look like?”

“Blue. It’s blue silk with white stitching. The color reminded me of ice because the blue is so pale. I loved it as soon as I saw it. I’ve never given much thought to my unmentionables before. But this assignment made me...it made me open my eyes. It made me actually _look_.” She felt her cheeks redden, especially under Jon’s indulgent smile. “Why are you smiling at me so?” she found herself asking. 

No more brandy for her!

He laughed softly. “Because it’s a delight to see you so animated about your shopping trip. And it was exactly what I’d hoped would happen - that something would catch your eye, that you would actually see your undergarments as more than serviceable, which is how you have seen them before I’m sure, and as something that can make you feel good. Tell me more, Sansa. What did you purchase?”

She bit her lip. “The corset, silk hose, new garters, a chemise, and a petticoat.”

Jon laughed heartily and slapped his thigh. “Wonderful! You bought more than I imagined you would. How did it feel to try them on?”

“It took some getting used to,” she admitted. “But Ros was with me the entire time. She helped me sort out what I liked and what fit me...she was so kind and knowledgeable and I...I felt so different wearing them. So decadent and scandalous, too, but they-- they felt so good on my skin.” She put her hands over her cheeks. “I should not be telling you such things.”

“Yes, you should,” he said, his voice deepening. “I am your tutor after all.”

His gaze ran over her and it felt like a touch. Sansa’s heart raced - what was that look in his eyes?

“Are you wearing your undergarments now, Sansa?” he asked softly. 

“I am.”

“How did it feel to put them on this morning? To know that they are yours?”

“Delightful,” she said on a rush of breath. 

“Let me see. I want to see them.”

She gulped. She knew this was coming. She stood and turned her back to him, and then peered over her shoulder at him. “Will you help me, Jon?”

She looked forward when he stood and she felt her cheeks heat. When she felt his hands begin to do the fastenings on her dress, her breath caught. She bit down on her lip hard and turned her eyes to the ceiling. 

_I am not cheating on my husband,_ she told herself. _I am doing this **for** my husband._

Yet this was intimate. A man she didn’t know well was undressing her to take a gander at her undergarments. This was most improper and yet the same ripple that went through her now as it had yesterday in the lingerie shop: excitement. 

When her dress fell to the floor, Jon held out his hand to assist her in stepping out of it. 

And then she turned to face him. 

He picked up her dress and laid it carefully over the nearby chair and she watched as his gaze roamed over her. He stepped forward and her breath hitched as he reached out and fingered the material of the petticoat. 

He smiled, though it looked forced somehow. “Lace,” he said, gesturing to the top and the bottom. “Lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said primly. 

“Now the rest,” he said roughly. 

“I need help again,” she told him and once again, turned her back to him. 

He undid the buttons on the back and helped her out of it. 

Sansa felt her heart race as she turned to face him again. 

She looked not at his face, but at the window yonder. 

Silence fell. She heard shouting in the distance.

And then he started to move. He circled her completely and Sansa gazed down at the floor, hands clasped in front of her. 

“Put your arms at your sides,” he said softly. 

She did and fought the urge to grip the material of her chemise.

Lady Sansa Hardyng was breathtaking.

Jon couldn’t stop staring at the corset and the way it pushed her bosom up, or how the lace of the chemise brushed against the top of them. 

He wanted to put his mouth there. 

Her neck was long; he hadn’t noticed that the last couple times she’d visited. Again, he wanted to see her hair unbound and tumbling free. She’d make a wanton picture with her hair down while in her undergarments. 

He’d wanted her in something blue and she had gone and done it as though she’d read his mind. 

“Look at me, Sansa,” he said. 

Her gaze darted up and he was caught unawares by stab of desire he felt. Her eyes and that corset… 

“Gorgeous,” he breathed. “You are simply gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” she said as if by rote. A true lady, she responded graciously to compliments even if she did not believe them. 

“Wait here,” Jon said and held up his hand. “Do not move, sweeting.”

He went to the door and stuck his head out, imploring his butler to fetch him the floor length mirror he kept in his bedchamber. 

“Jon, I can’t let anyone else see me like this!” Sansa exclaimed, scrambling after her dress. 

“Do not!” Jon rushed to stop her and grabbed her hands in his, making her look at him. “Do you think they haven’t seen a woman in her undergarments? I assure you they have seen more.”

“I do not wish to be gawked at!”

“Perhaps not, but you do deserve to be admired, Sansa. Use me as your shield then, sweeting. I want you to see what you look like.”

“I have seen already,” she told him. 

“I want to see _with_ you,” he rasped. 

Her brow furrowed. “Are you quite all right, Jon? You look a bit...peaked.”

His laugh was humorless.

The door pushed open Sansa let out a squeak as she ducked behind Jon. He was the perfect shield for he did not move a muscle to reveal her. Instead, he told his servants where he wanted the mirror - propped up against the wall - and then they left. 

Jon spun and held out his hand to her. “Come.”

She slipped her hand in his and he led her to the mirror framed in thick wood painted white. It must have taken several of his servants to bring it in!

He pushed her to stand in front of it and stood just so behind her so that she could see him over her shoulder. “Tell me what you see,” he urged. 

“I see myself,” she said, confused. 

“No, tell me how you see yourself in these new undergarments.”

“I don’t quite look like myself,” she said hesitantly. 

“How so?”

“I look different.”

“ _How_ do you look different?” he persisted. 

“I look beautiful,” she whispered. 

“Because you _are_ ,” he said fiercely. 

“The corset,” she said and reached up her hand to touch it. Before she did though, she dropped her hand. 

“No. Touch it,” Jon growled. 

She bit her lip and ran her fingers from her waist to the end of the corset. 

“From the top,” he rasped. 

“Jon--”

“Do it.”

Heaving a sigh, she lifted her hand to the corset by her breast and skimmed her fingers down feeling the silk and the embroidery on it. “It feels so good. I look transformed. Like a...like a woman grown.” She touched the top of the chemise where it just covered her breasts with shaking fingers. “The material feels like heaven on my skin and the lace makes me feel decadent.”

“Show me the hose,” he said huskily. “Kick off your shoes.”

She bent and took them off and pushed them aside. 

“I can see your legs,” he whispered. 

“Yes,” she whispered back. “I love them. They’re so light it’s what I imagine a cloud would feel like.”

He laughed darkly. “Let me see the garters.”

Steeling her nerves, Sansa slowly lifted her chemise until her garters were visible. 

“Can I touch them?” he asked. 

“You can’t,” she said softly. 

He muttered an oath.

“Touch them for me.”

She reached down and let her fingers trace over one garter. They felt warm. Jon watched with heated eyes and, feeling as though this was more for him than her now, she dropped the chemise. 

“You far surpassed the lesson, Sansa,” he murmured, stepping up close behind her so that she could feel his body heat against her back. His eyes met hers in the mirror. “I want you to remember this, how you look right now, how beautiful you are. Buy more. Buy the whole fucking store if you have to.”

She was surprised by his ferocity. 

He turned away from her and said, “I’ll help you dress. Then I’ll give you your next assignment.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jon had had many women. And some had managed to arouse him with little effort. Sansa was one such woman.

Yet there was something about her, something he could not define that transcended just simple arousal. Sansa discovering herself had felt as though he had been discovering her, too. 

His hands shook as he buttoned her dress back up. And when a lone strand of hair fell loose down her back, he couldn’t help himself. He lifted it gently to his nose and inhaled. Roses. 

“Jon?”

He dropped the strand and patted her shoulder. “All set.”

She turned, looking at him quizzically as she patted the back of her chignon. She frowned. “Drat. My hair is falling down.”

“It’s fine,” he told her and went to pour himself a drink. “Would you like that tea now, Sansa?”

“Yes, please.”

He smiled in amusement at her politeness and went to the door to inform his butler he needed tea. When he returned, he found Sansa sitting in the chair she seemed to have claimed as her own, gazing out the window. 

Jon fought the urge to touch her shoulder, or run his hands through her hair, or caress her face - to just _touch_ her in some way. Instead, he sat on his sofa facing her. “What are you thinking about?” he asked softly. 

“I’m still gathering my thoughts,” she said with a little laugh. 

“As am I,” he murmured, watching her. 

She looked at him, head cocked to the side. “Oh? Surely that was nothing compared to what you’ve experienced.”

“It wasn’t _nothing_.”

Her cheeks reddened and she bowed her head. Still he watched her; fascinated. 

Jon didn’t mind silence, and it seemed that Sansa didn’t either. The both of them, he supposed, needed a moment after what had just happened. 

Typically, any woman he had over never stopped talking. They filled up the space in the room with secrets, confessions, and gossip. They wanted him to be their lover and their friend, but it never worked both ways. He kept his secrets to himself. 

A servant came in then with the tea things and placed the tray upon the table between him and Sansa. When the servant left, Jon got up and poured a cup for Sansa. “Milk? Sugar?” he asked. 

“One cube of sugar, please. And just a dash of milk.” 

He plunked a cube in the cup, splashed in some milk, then picked up a small spoon and stirred, and handed it over. 

She smiled up at him as she reached up to take the proffered cup from his hand and it made his insides flutter. “Thank you, Jon.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome,” he said softly, and then prepared his own tea. 

Sansa took a few sips of her tea while Jon prepared his. When he sat down again and sipped his tea she asked, “What will be my next assignment then?”

He studied her with narrowed eyes over his cup, and then lowered it onto the table beside him. He rested his head in his hand and continued to watch her in silent contemplation. It was making her a bit uncomfortable and so she shifted in her seat and placed her tea on the table before her. “Jon,” she began in exasperation. 

“You scent yourself with rosewater, don’t you?” he asked. 

She blinked. “Yes. You know that? You can...smell me?”

He rumbled out a laugh. “Does that bother you? You wear them to smell good don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but...yes.”

He grinned. “Has anyone ever told you how charming you are, Sansa?”

“I thought I was beautiful,” she blurted out and then slapped her hand over her mouth. 

Jon laughed uproariously. “You are both. Charming _and_ beautiful.”

Sansa busied herself with picking up her teacup. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“It added to your charm,” Jon said with a wink. 

“Yes,” she said firmly, “I do use rosewater. Why?”

“Have you always used it?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Then I want you to procure some other scents.”

Her brow furrowed. “Does the rosewater not smell good?”

He smiled and leaned forward. “No, it smells divine on you, but I want you to try something different. I want you to purchase oils and lotion. _Matching_ oils and lotion. Before your bath--”

“Pardon me, but should I be writing this down?” 

His lips twitched with the urge to smile. “Would you feel better if you did?”

“I want to make sure I do everything you tell me.”

“Be careful who you say such things to,” he murmured. “Some might try to take advantage of such a sentiment.”

She shot him a disapproving, prim little look that stirred his blood. What the devil was she doing to him?

“I’ve paper in my reticule. Do you have a writing instrument I might use?”

Jon grinned and got up off the couch. “Allow me, my Lady.”

“If you’d just point the way--” she began. 

He held up a hand as he headed over to a small desk in the corner of the room. “Nonsense. I am but your humble servant, Lady Sansa.”

When he returned with a quill and ink pot, Sansa looked up at him with some amusement. “You should be careful who you say that to. Some might try to take advantage of such a sentiment.”

Jon placed the quill and inkpot on the table before her and then braced his hand on the back of her chair and leaned in close. “Well, well. You’re quite the saucy little minx.” he purred. 

She laughed, her whole face lighting up. “Not yet. But under your tutelage I hope to become one.”

Unable to resist, Jon reached out and lifted a strand of stray hair, fingering it gently. “I think that comment hinted you do have a minx in you just itching to come out.”

She studied him studying her and then nodded. “Well, we’ll see I suppose,” she said, and reached for the quill, effectively ending contact between them. 

Jon frowned and returned to the couch. Boundaries, boundaries, Sansa had boundaries. (And he wanted to push against them). “Right then. This is what I want you to do.”

xxxxxxxxxx

It wasn’t that Jon wanted her to buy a few new oils for her bath, and lotions as well that bothered Sansa. It was what he wanted her to _do_ with them. 

He wanted her to rub the oil _on her body_ before getting into the bath, and then he wanted her to not just rub the lotion on her arms and shoulders, but _all over_. 

It was absolutely unladylike to _touch_ oneself. The only time she ever did, and hardly at that, was when she visited the chamber pot. 

Sansa sat back with a huff against the seat of the carriage as it rambled its way back to the house. 

”I warned you some touching would be involved.” Jon had told her earlier. “That includes being able to administer to your own ablutions. How else do you expect to learn about seduction without some form of touching involved?”

“But myself?!” she’d exclaimed. 

“Yes. I want you to learn your body. I want you to feel your breasts, Sansa. Your legs. Your arms. I want you to be aware that you _have_ a body and that it deserves to be taken care of and pampered. If you are not aware of yourself, all aspects including the thing that takes you from room to room, then you do not _know_ yourself. You’ve started the discovery with the purchase of those undergarments. Now I want you to prepare your body before you slip into them.”

She’d scowled at him and he’d laughed. 

She sighed and gazed out the window. 

Truly, was what Jon wanted her to do now any worse than purchasing undergarments and showing them to a man who not her husband?

Thankfully, Jon didn’t require her to oil herself up and bathe in front of him. Though she wouldn’t put it past him to ask that of her at some point. 

She felt her body flush with warmth at the very idea. She swiped the side of her hand across her brow as she shut her eyes as if to wipe the thought from her mind. Wipe the _feeling_ that came with it. 

She thought of the look he’d worn when he’d looked at her in her underthings. How he’d asked her to touch the corset and the garters. How he’d wanted to touch them, too. 

Now, she felt her breasts pushing against said corset and she realized her breathing had grown heavier. 

The carriage came to an abrupt halt and the door opened a second later. “I’m sorry, mi’lady,” the driver said worriedly. “I didn’t mean ta stop so suddenly. A woman ran from that there alley and dashed in front of me and to the other side!”

Her footman, Samuel, shoved the driver aside with one burly arm and glared at him while he held out his hand to her. Sansa took his hand and allowed him to help her from the carriage. 

“It’s quite all right, Hanson. I wasn’t injured,” she told him. 

“Nearly coulda been,” Samuel muttered with a glower. 

“Where did she come from again, Hanson?” Sansa asked. 

He pointed to the alley between her and Harry’s townhouse and the one next door. 

Sansa frowned and peered across the street. “Did she disappear?”

“Ran like the hounds of hell were after her, she did,” Hanson said. “She was all done up like a proper lady, too. Like yerself, mi’lady.”

Sansa frowned. A proper lady running through an alley, darting across a carriage, and then disappearing so quickly? The back of the townhouse she shared with Harry had a little path that led to that alley. So did the townhouse next door. 

Whatever had happened, it was none of her business. She only hoped that whoever it was, was all right. Furrowing her brow, she began the climb up the steps to the front door and it opened for her. The butler greeting her warmly. She smiled as he helped her with her coat, gloves, and hat. 

Harry appeared then from the drawing room. His shirt undone at the neck. He was puffing on a cigar. “Ah, there you are.”

Had he actually been looking for her? She smiled in a mix of astonishment and joy. “Here I am.”

“I have tickets to the opera tonight. After dinner we’ll go, yes?”

She beamed at him. “Yes!”

He nodded and ducked back into the drawing room. 

While Sansa didn’t particularly care for the opera all that much, she did care that Harry was taking her out. Did that mean he’d visit her bed tonight? 

Her smile fell. She knew nothing yet of how to please him. 

Could she be brave enough to show off her new underthings? She had showed Jon after all, so why couldn’t she show Harry?

 _Because Harry is prickly,_ the little voice in her head said. _If he doesn’t like them, he won’t think to spare your feelings, just tell you flat out that he doesn’t like them and to not wear them again in his presence._

She didn’t want Harry to sour the underthings she had so come to love. Biting her lip and weighing her options, Sansa took herself up the stairs to her bedchamber. If she could show Jon, she could show Harry. It should be less scary to show her husband than Jon! Even if he was prickly - and _picky_ too - he was still her husband!

Perhaps she could start with a dress she knew Harry liked and work her way from there. Resolved, Sansa now hurried to her bedchamber to prepare herself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lovely banner by @asongforjonsa:
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://imgur.com/YHZAGLo)  
> 

Sansa’s dress was deep green and made of silk. It dipped just low enough in the front for fashion’s sake, but was still modest so as to not be untoward. It cinched in at the waist and flared out into a full skirt. It was one of Sansa’s favorites, and she only wore it on special occasions. 

Tonight was such an occasion. 

She called for a fresh bath and when it was ready, she sank into it with a happy sigh. She imagined how the night would go: Harry would dote on her. Smile at her. Hang on her every word. He’d fetch her lemonade at the Opera, sit close to her, hold her hand and kiss the back of it from time to time. He’d send her meaningful looks that promised much more was to come that night. 

Then, in the carriage on the way home, he’d take her in his arms and kiss her passionately and tell her how ardently he loved her. Once they returned home, he’d very properly lead her up the stairs to her bedchamber and then, then...he’d ravish her. He’d peel away her clothing bit by bit and once he saw her new undergarments, he’d go mad with lust for her and promise to buy her more in any color and any style she wanted. 

And then he’d stay the night with her so that in the morning, she would awaken in his arms, safe and secure and loved. 

_That_ was how she imagined the night would go.

If it did, then perhaps she wouldn’t need Jon’s services any longer. Then she and Harry could get on with the business of having a happy marriage and she could feel secure in the fact that there was nothing wrong with her at all. Perhaps Harry just liked being out and about with his friends and taking care of Parliamentary matters and they’d carry on. 

Even as she thought it though, she knew it was all too much to ask for in one go. Perhaps just half of it? Just a start, a real start to their marriage instead of this...living with a stranger who visited her bed as though he had one more task to finish off for the day. 

She wondered at the plausibility of her fantasies even coming true _just a little_ when he opted to sup in his room, and had her supper sent to hers. 

Well then. Not a very good start, but the whole night would not be a waste, not one whit. She felt even more confident now than she had just hours prior and that, she knew, was partly due to Jon and his reaction to her in her lingerie. She blushed at the remembrance of it yet again. It was a powerful feeling to not only realize she could make a man want to touch her - and one as seasoned as Jon was - but also that she had the power to say no. 

She’d never been raped or molested in any way, but a woman didn’t have many opportunities to express themselves and actually be listened to. A woman’s wants and needs weren’t as important as a man’s, and a man always thought they knew better than a woman. She’d seen enough men attempt to take liberties with a woman and ignore their whispered but polite no’s at balls. She knew of ruined women…

That Jon listened to her and stopped himself from taking liberties made her feel even more powerful. He didn’t ignore her. 

_Not like Harry does_ , she thought sadly. 

But, no, tonight would be different! She was determined about that.

xxxxxxxxx

“Sansa, dear, we’ll be late if we don’t leave now,” Harry called up to her. 

Around the corner from the stairs, Sansa lifted her chin, puffed out her chest, and made her back straight as a rod. She clasped her hands in front of her and rounded the corner. Harry was at the bottom, adjusting his coat and didn’t look up. 

She cleared her throat and he glanced her way. “Oh, good, you’re ready.”

She stopped her descent, trying her best not to feel deflated. He just hadn’t really looked yet, that was all. He was too concerned with leaving and being on time to notice. 

He looked up again, coat adjusted. “What’s wrong?”

She stared at him. “Nothing, why?”

“You’re just standing there,” he said. “We need to leave, Sansa.”

Inwardly, she was stomping her foot in irritation and shouting _Look at me! Look at my dress! I made myself look especially nice for you!_

She began her descent again and when she reached the bottom, he helped her slip on her cloak. “You look very handsome tonight, Harry,” she said, hoping to prompt him into actually _looking_ at her.

He looked surprised and cleared his throat as he looked down at himself. “Do I?”

She nodded and smiled prettily. 

He blushed a little. “I- thank you, Sansa.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. 

“And you look lovely as always,” he said. 

Not exactly what she’d been looking for, but beggars, she supposed, couldn’t be choosers. 

xxxxxxxxxx

By the time they reached the Opera House, Sansa had a throbbing headache. She’d hoped to engage Harry in some conversation and instead prompted him to lecture her on the petitions they’d heard on machinery for spinning and weaving. Whenever she’d try to get a word in edgewise, he talked over her or didn’t let her speak at all. 

He never held her hand. Never told her how he was looking forward to sharing this night with her. 

She wanted a lemonade and headache powder as soon as they arrived, but she knew the headache powder would have to wait. When Harry helped her down from the carriage, he surprised her by kissing her hand. “Thank you, Sansa, for listening.”

She was much warmed by the gesture and thought perhaps the night would now look up. 

As always, the Opera was a glittering affair. It was a place to see and be seen, and while Sansa did not always enjoy being seen, she did enjoy being able to observe others. There was, perhaps, a bit of a gossip in her though she was never one for spreading it. 

She was all smiles despite the lingering headache as she waved to her friend Lady Margaery across the room before Harry escorted her through the busy lobby and up to their box. He helped her take her cloak off and made sure she had her binoculars before heading off to get her some lemonade. 

Sansa sighed happily and let her gaze sweep the crowded Opera House. She saw men and women of all stations talking in groups, whispering to each other, and gawking at people. She plucked her binoculars off her lap and decided to take part in the gawking. She was doing a sweep of who was below her when she was startled by a pair of gray eyes looking directly at her. 

She knew those eyes.

Lowering her binoculars, she looked straight at Jon. He stared back, his gaze heated. It lowered to her bodice where it lingered, and then back up to her face. She wondered if he was imagining the lingerie she’d shown him earlier that day, and she felt her cheeks growing hot. 

When the woman next to him, a woman with deep red hair - that did not at all look natural - tugged on his arm, he tore his gaze away from her. 

Her heart pounded in her chest. She darted a look about - no one was looking at her. They hadn’t seen her staring at Jon, or at least she hoped they didn’t. The last thing she needed was anyone gossiping about her and Jon Snow staring at one another. 

Following that train of thought was the woman next to him. Who was she? A customer of Jon’s? A friend? A lover? 

She felt uneasy. Something inside her bubbled up, something uncomfortable. It made her skin feel tight, it made her want to sneer. 

It made her want him to look back at her and look at _her_ and focus on _her_.

Goodness. She was jealous. _Jealous_. Her, a married woman, was jealous that Jon Snow, the male prostitute, was here with a _woman_. It was ridiculous. It made no sense. How could she be... ? 

She looked down at her lap and then looked up only with her eyes to Jon. He was laughing with the woman. 

Sansa’s hands gripped her dress at the sides. _Stop it_ , she thought and lifted her head, pretending to look around the room again, but her gaze kept drifting Jon’s way…

And he wouldn’t look again at her. 

Why wouldn’t he look her way again? 

As soon as she thought it, she wanted to kick herself. 

The lights dimmed and the music began to swell. 

Sansa shifted in her seat. _Where_ was Harry? It shouldn’t have taken him this long to get the lemonade. She was just about ready to get up and look for him when he appeared. He looked...upset. Or was it the lighting and her own mood making him look so?

He handed her, her lemonade and sat down beside her, plucking the binoculars off her lap and using them to not look at the stage but the audience. 

“Harry?” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

He sighed, sat back, and handed her the binoculars. “I am. Just the crush downstairs was a bit difficult to navigate through.”

Did he think her stupid? Something else was going on with him. She wanted to know what it was but she was also afraid to ask. 

She glanced down into the audience at Jon and found him still not looking her way. She sipped her lemonade, only to find it was watered down claret and not lemonade at all. 

What a disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://imgur.com/2FWLwHL)  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for putting up with my neediness and ramblings @israfel00

It was hard for Sansa to concentrate on the opera. She couldn’t stop thinking about what had taken Harry so long to return with her lemonade, and every time she told herself to forget it and just watch the opera and try to enjoy the fact that she was out with her husband, her suspicions would rear their ugly heads. 

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what happened in the boxes and behind the curtains in the boxes - rendezvous. Lovers met. And then there was the crush down below - just like a ball, there was plenty of opportunity for lovers to escape, to find some nook…

She wanted to ask him if he was having an affair. It was on the tip of her tongue to do so, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak it aloud and _not here_ and what would she actually _do_ if he was? Tell him she was seeing a male prostitute and to just give her time to make herself more desirable to him? Tell him to stop? 

Maybe she was letting her imagination run away with her. 

But she really didn’t think so. 

(And why was Jon still not looking at her? Who was that woman he was with?)

When Intermission came, she glanced over at Harry and found him frowning and not even looking at the stage. He seemed lost in thought, staring off into the distance. 

“Harry?” she asked gently. 

He sat up and looked over at her. “Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

His frown deepened a bit. “I find I’m not enjoying this as much as I thought I would. I’m sorry, Sansa. Are you enjoying it?”

No, not at all. She had no idea what was going on on stage, and she suspected it would just get worse from here on out. 

She was tempted to peer down at Jon again and stopped herself. She sighed. “I suppose I lost the plot a bit.” _Much like the plot of our marriage. Where do we stand, Harry?_

Harry nodded, head bent, clearly thinking. He looked up again at her. “Would you like to leave?”

Half of her wanted to stay and the other half didn’t. It wasn’t often he took her out and she had so many hopes for this night. 

She nibbled on her bottom lip, wondering if they left what would it mean? They went to their separate bedchambers and she spent another night alone wondering what was wrong with her? 

She could say something…? But what? How would Harry receive it if she told him she wanted to share his bed tonight? She couldn’t stand the rejection if she said it and he put her off. 

“Perhaps,” she started and then cleared her throat. “Perhaps we could have a brandy at home? Together?”

He looked surprised and then laughed softly, bending his head. “I didn’t know you drank brandy.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Harry,” she said. 

He looked up at her, studied her face. Sansa got the distinct impression that he was seeing her, really seeing her, perhaps for the first time. 

He sighed - a sigh of resolve? - and stood. He held out his hand. “Let’s go home then. The brandy awaits.”

Harry didn’t take her in his arms and kiss her passionately as she’d hoped when they returned to the carriage. Yet there was something different in the air. A charge of something. She felt the expectancy of something about to happen. It flooded through her veins and she felt breathless with it. Was this the start of something? Could it be?

When she felt his hand cover hers, she started at first and then looked at him. He smiled somewhat tremulously and she smiled back. Yes. This was the start of something.

(She ignored the prick of ...something she could not name at the idea of telling Jon she would not need his services any longer.)

Once home, coats off, in front of the fire with brandies in front of the fireplace while sitting together on the settee, Sansa studied her husband. He wasn’t relaxed, not sitting back as she was, but rather leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs. He was swirling his drink, deep in thought. 

Not that she was relaxed either and she rather hoped the brandy did its job soon in relaxing her nerves. She still didn’t quite know what to _do_. The logistics were there, but not how to drive him mad with desire. 

(Perhaps she would still need Jon after all.)

“Are you unhappy with me, Sansa?” Harry asked finally. He still wouldn’t look at her. He spoke to the fire. 

Oh, how to answer such a question. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she also wanted to be honest. “I could be happier,” she finally said. 

He turned his head, peering at her over his shoulder. ‘What would make you happy?”

She pondered this question, not certain of herself enough to give voice to her wants. She was a lady, ladies were not supposed to have such lustful yearnings. Nor were they supposed to see a male prostitute, and it struck Sansa that there was more wrong in their marriage than just the lack of bedchamber activities if she sought the help of Jon instead of speaking directly to her husband. 

But one had to start somewhere. And wasn’t it a good start that he would ask such a thing and not get all brutish about it and only concern himself with what would make him happy? 

She never did get to answer him though, for the next thing she knew he was taking her in his arms and kissing her. Passionately. 

(Where had his drink gone?)

“Is this what you want, Sansa? Would this make you happier?” he husked against her lips. She nodded, blushing madly, and he kissed her again, harder this time. 

A little _too_ hard. 

Could she...stop him? Tell him to be gentler?

(What would Jon tell her to do?)

She pushed against his chest. “I need to breathe,” she said, hoping a break would cool his initial ardor a bit. 

Instead, he attacked her neck with kisses. 

“Harry, you -- that is - do you find me...desirable?”

He lifted his head. He looked surprised by her question. His smile was faint and he caressed the side of her face. “You are rather beautiful. Surely you know that.”

“It helps to hear it,” she said with an encouraging smile. “Thank you.” She inhaled. “Harry,” she said, exhaling slowly. “I want to make you happy. I want you to...to tell me what you like. Or show me?”

Goodness, had she really just said that?!

“Do you mean that?” he asked. 

She nodded, hoping he saw how very serious she was about that. 

He caressed the side of her face again and then let it trail over her shoulder and down to her breast. He covered it with his hand and Sansa felt her breath shorten. 

Until he squeezed. Hard. She winced. 

“What do you think of a little pain with your pleasure, Sansa?” he asked huskily. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Such a good _virtuous_ girl,” he said and squeezed her breast again. “I wonder what would happen if i dirtied you up a bit?”

Dirtied her…?

“Would you wank my cock if I asked? Maybe squeeze it?”

She knew from eavesdropping on Cersei Lannister that’s what men liked. That and a lot more, actually. She nodded. 

She did not expect though, that Harry would undo his trousers and reveal his manhood to her in the _drawing room_. 

_What difference does it make? You were in your underthings in Jon’s!_ the traitorous voice in her head admonished her.   
“Let me show you how,” Harry murmured and guided her hand to his stiffness. He helped wrap her hand around him and guided her hand up and down his shaft. 

This was so scandalous. And yet she felt a bit of a thrill at the same time. To be doing such a thing to her husband when before it was candles out and under the covers. All very quick. All very for God and country. 

Harry tilted his head back against the back of the settee. “Squeeze me,” he muttered. 

She did, but just a little. 

“Harder,” he demanded. 

She squeezed harder. 

“Harder,” he hissed. “Make it hurt!”

Make it hurt? Had she heard him right? She stopped moving her hand altogether, shock making her stiffen. 

“Why did you stop?” he demanded and reached out with one hand on the back of her neck. His fingers bit into the back of her neck. 

“Harry, I think--”

“Would you rather suck me? Have you ever done such a thing before, Sansa? I’d like to see that pretty little face of yours stuffed with cock.” He started to push her head down with his hand on the back of her neck. “Use a little teeth, too.”

The closer his manhood got to her face, the more Sansa began to panic. He’d never forced her to do anything before and now he wanted her to hurt him, wanted to stuff her mouth - oh, she couldn’t even think it!

“Harry!” she boomed, frightened. “No!”

He froze. Sansa rushed off the couch, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to get away from him. She didn’t stop there, either. She kept going, right out the door and up the stairs to her bedchamber. She locked it, her hands shaking, and pressed her back against it. 

She burst into tears, wondering what in the _devil_ had just happened when she heard the front door slam. She jumped. Harry must have left. 

She sagged down to the floor, her skirts billowing out about her. 

There was only one thing she wanted in that moment. The one thing she wanted to make her feel better. Or rather, some _one_. 

She wanted Jon. 

xxxxxxxx

“Sir, sir, I hate to wake you, but there is a lady here most hysterical--”

“Garth, what the devil?” Jon asked his butler groggily, his voice rough with sleep. He sat up in his bed, sheets pooling about his lap. 

“There is a lady here to see you. She is most hysterical and would not agree to come back later.”

Jon frowned. It could be any number of ladies wanting to see him, and any number of them could be hysterical, too. Probably broke a shoe or something equally ridiculous. “What time is it?” he groused. 

“Seven, sir,” Garth said. 

“Who is it? Tell me it’s not Lady Wilhelmina. Has her husband discovered her visits to me then? Are we to have pistols at dawn?”

“No, sir, it’s, well, I believe it is Lady Sansa.”

Jon scrambled out of bed, his heart starting to race. “Good God, man. Why didn’t you say that from the start?”

Garth looked at a loss for words as Jon hastily reached for his trousers and robe. 

“Does this mean you’ll see her then?” Garth asked. 

Jon pushed past him with a glare, “Bloody hell, what do you think?”

He rushed down the hall and then down the stairs, taking them two at a time to the drawing room. He found Sansa in a heap on his sofa, sobbing her little heart out. She looked up, seeing him. “You were the only one I could think to see,” she said. 

Jon had seen enough women cry over unnecessary and trifling things that he had grown apathetic to it, but the sight of Sansa in tears made him want to break something. 

And the fact that she was here after seeing her last night with that dolt of a husband...the man his good friend Ygritte, had called “Hurtful Harry”. Apparently “Hurtful Harry” liked to mix pain and pleasure in the boudoir. 

“Do you see him?” Jon had asked. 

Ygritte had laughed. “No. Not him. He’s much too… eager. He has a favorite.”

“Tell me no more,” Jon had said, his tone biting and angry. 

“Who is the little baggage to you, Jon?”

“Never you mind,” Jon had said and stared straight ahead at the stage. 

“I do enjoy secrets!” Ygritte had said excitedly and with more than a little mischievousness. 

He’d laughed, but shared no more. He had a secret now, a secret that would hurt Sansa so very much. How could he tell her such a thing? And yet how did he not? 

He rushed to her side and sank onto the sofa beside her. “Sweeting, what happened?” he asked. 

“Harry, he - he hurt me. He wanted me to hurt him - I don’t understand what happened, Jon, and you were the only person I could think of who might help me make sense of it all.”

Jon reached over and pulled her onto his lap. She was so light in his arms, despite the heavy skirts, and winding his arms around her while she pressed her face into his neck felt so right. 

He knew now what to punch for making Sansa cry. “Where did he hurt you?”

“My neck - but he scared me most of all, Jon!” It came out more like, “mneck, buthmscaredmmostall.”

He could barely understand her through her tears.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and felt as though he was stealing something he shouldn’t be. He cradled her close, tilting his head to rest upon the top of hers. “Let it all out, sweeting. Then you tell me what happened, yes?”

She nodded, sniffling, and Jon thought how nice it was to be a source of comfort for someone outside of sex. Should he feel guilty for thinking that while she was sobbing in his arms? 

Bugger it. He couldn’t help it. He might have to prepare for pistols at dawn with Harry for hurting Sansa, but oddly, even though she was the one in need of comforting, holding her like this felt a comfort to him as well.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa’s account of what happened between her and Harry started from the moment she arrived home from Jon’s earlier that day. Jon found his lip curling at the description of how excited she’d been when Harry had asked her to the opera that night. 

He felt awful about that when he heard the wistfulness in her voice - it had clearly been something she had been looking forward to. Besides, who was he to feel any sort of...whatever it was he felt about it? The whole purpose for her coming to see him was to improve her marriage. That she saw hope in his asking her to the opera was expected. 

He supposed in light of what Harry had so abrasively unleashed on her, he wasn’t feeling very benevolent toward the man. Who would be? He’d frightened Sansa and treated her most brutishly.

As her account of the night went on to what had happened in the drawing room, Jon felt he could throw something. Especially when he heard her voice crack with emotion and a fresh batch of tears followed soon after. 

He also took note of Sansa describing Harry’s prolonged fetching of her lemonade. He had been gone long enough for Sansa to notice, and the warning bells went off in Jon’s head. Sansa already voiced her suspicions of an affair and seemed to think he could have been meeting his paramour in some dark corner of the opera house. 

Jon was inclined to agree. And he meant to find out. He didn’t want to cause Sansa any undue hurt, but he had to know. Whoring was one thing; having an affair was another. What he would do with the information if he discovered that Hurtful Harry was the philandering snake Jon suspected him to be, he did not know. But he would figure that part out when he got there. 

Now, it was time to comfort Sansa and, of all things, defend not Harry’s actions that night but his sexual proclivities. 

“I barely slept,” Sansa said, sniffling into the handkerchief Jon had Garth bring in for her. He’d actually asked for several of them, and they all sat folded beside Jon on the sofa. “I hurried to get ready to leave this morning. I was told Harry had already left.” She wiped discreetly at her nose. 

His usually put together Lady was a bit disheveled. Jon wondered if she’d had any help in preparing herself for the day. 

He lifted her chin with a finger, and she looked at him with watery blue eyes. Jon reached beside him, keeping his arm securely around her back to keep her steady on his lap, and grabbed another handkerchief. She reached for it, but he drew it back. “Let me,” he said. 

She furrowed her brows, but he smiled and indulged himself in drying her eyes. He wasn’t sure where this instinct to protect and comfort had come from only that it had everything to do with Sansa. He didn’t indulge in this sort of thing regularly, not in any real kind of way. A woman may sob in his arms over their louse of a husband, but rarely did he feel compelled to _take care of them_ as he did with Sansa. 

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked mournfully once her tears were dried. 

Jon weighed his words in his head. How best to explain this? He thought to start with “You know how you like it when…” but Sansa didn’t know what she liked. All she knew was that she didn’t want to lay there for God and country while Harry plowed through the sex act, and left her bed. She wanted more. She had yet to find out what _more_ there was. She had probably never touched herself outside of those moments when nature called. Jon was certain she’d never experienced _la petite mort._

For shame. He could just imagine her having her first orgasm. Her body flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat, her blue eyes wide and dark, her neck arched, her mouth open and screaming for all to hear…

His cock twitched. _Not a good time,_ he scolded it. Honestly, his body knew no discipline when it came to Sansa. 

Finally, in the end, he opted for frankness. “There’s nothing wrong with the desires he has to experience pain with his pleasure. Sometimes, there is excitement to be found in the pain, and for some, they need it to reach their peak.”

She gaped at him. “There was nothing wrong with what he did to me?!”

“I did not say that, Sansa,” he said. “How he went about showing you his desires was utterly wrong. He didn’t even ease you in, didn’t talk to you about it, he just went for it like a raging bull. I’m not sure what he was thinking on that end, but it was wrong. He should have had your consent, set some rules down--”

“Jon, are you telling me that his - his - ”

“Proclivities? Urges? Desires?”

“Pick one,” she all but seethed and he guessed the redness in her cheeks was due to outrage rather than embarrassment. 

“Desires,” he said. 

“You are telling me that his _desires_ are _normal_?”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Do you prefer that?” she asked. Now he figured the redness in her cheeks had to do with embarrassment as her gaze skittered away from his. 

He drew her head back to look at him. “I have engaged in a some rough play, yes, but it is not my preferred way to reach climax.”

“Why would someone want that done to them? Why would someone want anyone to _speak_ to them that way? He told me - Jon, he told me he wanted to see my mouth stuffed with--” She broke off, and shook her head. “I can’t even say it!”

“Some people like to talk dirty. The more obscene the better.”

“Do you like that?”

His cock twitched again. “Yes. Not the way Harry went about it though.”

“Have you ever said such a thing as he said to me?”

“Yes, but only with women who preferred it. I didn’t force my _desires_ on them the way Harry did to you. He scared you, sweeting, and he was violent in how he approached you with his wants, and I do fault him with that. He should have talked with you about it first. If my clients want such things, we talk about it first. We discuss what is acceptable and what is not. And we use a special signal - sometimes a word or a sound - if one has gone too far and we need to stop.”

“Well, I’m not sure what to think now.” She sounded petulant. 

“You think that your husband is an arsehole doing what he did without consulting you first. For hurting you when you did not ask for it. For expecting you to comply to his demands when he made no mention and gave no inclination this was what he wanted. He asked you what would make you happy in your marriage and then tried to take what would make _him_ happy.”

“You’re angry,” she murmured. 

“I am bloody well angry. He gave you a fright - needlessly. I only thank the Gods he left well enough alone when you made it clear that wasn’t what you wanted.”

“I still don’t understand it… are you certain there is nothing wrong with it?”

Gently, Jon wiped away tears that fell. “It pains me to say, but no, there is nothing wrong with his proclivities. Just his execution of them.”

“Having me for a wife must be incredibly boring…” she muttered despairingly. “Jon, may I ask...what sort of things - rough things - have you done?”

“A bit of spanking. Flogging - not very hard though. Pulling a woman’s hair while I fucked her from behind--”

“Jon!”

He laughed at her admonishment. “You asked, love.”

She seemed to be pondering his answer and he wondered if she was imagining it at all. He certainly was. He kept imaging her bottom pink from his spanking her and her moaning for more…

His cock was getting hard. 

“Who was the woman you were with last night?”

He smiled gently at her and moved some hair from her face. “A friend.”

“A client?”

“No, just a friend.”

“Did you ever…with her?”

“Fuck her?”

“Don’t be vulgar. Not now.”

“Did I ever make love to her? Is that better?”

She wrinkled her nose and moved off his lap. “Goodness, that’s not better that’s worse.”

“How?” Was she jealous? (Gods above, let her be jealous!)

“I don’t know, it just is,” she said irritably and got to her feet. “My mind is a muddle, and nothing coming out of my mouth makes any sort of sense. Do you know what I need? I need some headache powder. Do you have any?”

Jon stood and grasped her hands in his, making her look at him once again. She looked distraught and tense and he wanted to lay her down and massage the tightness he saw in her shoulders. They were up to her ears by now. 

“I have some, but you know what I think you need?”

“A trip to the asylum?”

He laughed softly - had he ever laughed as much as when he was with Sansa? “No, what you need is a bath. A hot bath in a big tub.”

She blinked. “Jon, I can hardly take a bath in your house.”

“Of course you can. Consider it part of your lessons.”

“Lessons?! Do you honestly think I can conceive of such a thing at a time like this? My husband wanted me to chomp on him like he was a pastry--”

Jon laughed again, he couldn’t help it. “You said he wanted you to use a little teeth, not chomp on him.”

“Honestly, Jon, the last thing I want right now is lessons on how to attract Harry.”

“We’ll discuss lessons...perhaps they’ll have nothing to do with Harry.” 

She looked bewildered. Her brows were pinched together and he lifted a finger to ease the crease between them. “Say yes, love. Let me draw you a bath and take some time for yourself to relax.”

“Jon,” she sighed. 

“Say yes,” he whispered. 

She stared at him, thinking. And then, finally, “Yes.”


	8. Chapter 8

Not many homes had a separate room for bathing. Typically, only the very rich did, which meant that Sansa and Harry had one - each. And her parents had two - one for them, and one for the children. 

Sansa did not expect that Jon would have one, too, though she supposed he made good money doing what he did. He’d made five thousands pounds from her alone after all. Not that she could really continue using his services for seducing Harry since - 

Right then. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that. She was supposed to instead be focusing on this new assignment: relaxing. 

Not something she was accustomed to, so she was certain this would be a lost cause. 

Though seeing Jon’s bathing room did make her think that perhaps it wouldn’t be too much of a trial to slip into his rather large bathtub. Even her bathtub at home was not this big. 

“Where did you get this?” she asked, gliding her finger along the rim of it. It was a gleaming white porcelain - high in the back and lower in the front, but looked as though it would fully protect her from prying eyes. Not that she expected any. 

“I had it shipped here from home when I came over,” Jon told her. His back was to her at a long table that looked rather like something an apothecary would own. It had a basin on top, a brush, and several hand mirrors. 

Sansa blushed. Why would one need mirrors in _here_?

In the corner was a table with several folded towels, and near the windows that overlooked Jon’s meager backyard was a bench. A white robe was draped over it. His? A recent clients?

She didn’t want to think about that. And, she realized, she never did get that answer about whether or not he’d had relations with his _friend_.

“Sansa.”

His voice in her ear and his hands upon her shoulders made her jump in surprise. “It’s all right, love, it’s just me,” he rumbled deeply. 

She tried to make herself relax despite the fact that she was in a bathing room with him. There was a bathtub in the room for heaven’s sake. A bathtub that Jon was _naked_ in before. Perhaps naked with others -

She blushed and put that out of her mind, too. 

He turned her to face him and tilted her head up to him with his finger. “There she is,” he murmured. “I was calling your name and you were miles away.”

“Sorry--”

“No apology necessary. Come, let me show you the oils I have.” 

While he showed her bottles of oils and lotions and had her smell quite a few of them until she started to sneeze, his staff began filling the great bathtub. 

“I want you to try lavender,” he told her. “I’ve got the soap, the oil, and the lotion. We’ll start with the oil.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this the assignment from yesterday? Lathering myself up like a trussed up turkey on Christmas Day?”

He laughed. “Yes, in fact.” His gaze drifted down the length of her body and it almost looked as though there was longing in his gaze. “I’d massage you myself--”

“No,” she said.

He smiled, his gaze upon her. “And that would be why I won’t. Because I cannot. So, allow me a moment to demonstrate what I want you to do.”

He took his robe off, revealing a completely bare torso and black silk lounging pants. 

“Jon!” she exclaimed, turning firmly away from him. 

“Sansa, I saw you in lingerie just yesterday,” he said gently. 

“But - but I was still wearing _something_. It was still indecent I’ll grant you, but you are quite naked right now!”

“The important bits are covered. Come, look at me.”

She thought of Harry and what he might think if he knew she was about to look at Jon half naked. If he knew she was about to take a bath in his home. If he knew she was even _seeing_ him, and decided it didn’t matter what Harry thought. Not after last night. 

She heaved a breath for courage and looked at him. 

At his face. 

He smiled at her. “Look down at my body, Sansa.”

Her cheeks flaming, Sansa did as he told her and sucked in her lips between her teeth and bit down. _Oh my_ she thought. She had never really seen much of Harry before, but what she had seen she’d liked. And she had seen her older brother’s naked torso before when he was helping fix the roof on their home. 

But… _Jon_. 

He was a work of art. Harry, she remembered, had been very lean, hardly any definition, but Jon...with Jon she could see every groove and bump of his muscles. Good heavens - did stomachs really have muscles like that?

She felt a flash of heat that she was certain had nothing to do with the steaming hot water filling the bathtub, but she’d blame it on that in any case. Although, the stirring between her legs had nothing to do with the bathtub…

Goodness, she was shameful. 

Her hands moved against her skirts. She wanted to touch him. He just looked so… _manly_ and that trail of hair that just went down down down…

She averted her gaze. “Right then, so the oils--”

“I need to demonstrate,” he said softly. The pitch of his voice made her shiver. “Look, love.”

She looked, feeling a bit faint. 

She watched him put a dollop of oil in his hand, the lavender scent filling the space between them. It really was such a heavenly scent. He rubbed his hand together and then began to rub the lotion into his arms in small circles. “This is not like putting on lotion. This is small circles and hard rubs. I want you to feel it in your muscles. It makes your skin soft, but it also gets the blood circulating.”

She gulped, watching him. She heard his words as though from a great distance. She was too busy staring openly at his body. 

“Will you lift your sleeve so that I may show you the pressure I want you to use?” he asked. 

She looked up at him, panicked. “You’re - you want to touch me?”

“Not to take liberties, sweeting. Just your arm. I promise.”

She swallowed hard. Well, she’d come this far…

She pushed up the sleeve of her dress with shaking hands and extended her arm. Jon took it gently in one hand and started to work the oil into her skin with the other. Firm round circles again and again higher and higher up to her elbow, and then under her arm down to her wrist. And then he took her hand in both of his and massaged it. 

It felt heavenly. She felt a loosening in her hand as though she’d been clutching it tight. 

When a moan escaped her, she snatched her hand away from him. 

Jon looked amused, a knowing grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I vow it’s harder to give yourself a hand massage, but they should not be neglected. Perhaps for last, after you’ve done your whole body.”

“Do you do this every day?” she asked. 

“Yes.” He extended his non-oiled arm. “Feel how soft.”

She couldn’t help herself from reaching out - and then quickly snapping it back. 

“It’s all right, sweeting, you can touch my arm.” He sounded a bit exasperated with her. But he was smiling, so not too much.

She reached out and sucked her lips back in her mouth again as she stroked her hand up his arm. He let out a sigh and when she looked up at him, he was watching her closely, heat in his eyes. “Do you feel how soft it is?” he rumbled again. 

“I do,” she whispered. 

“Do you want to touch anything else perhaps?”

She snatched her hand back and glared at him and he laughed. 

“All ready, sir,” a maid said, standing near the door. 

“Thank you, Abigail,” Jon said. “I’d like you to help Lady Sansa undress, please.”

“Of course,” Abigail said and moved forward. 

“Where will you be?” Sansa asked him. While she knew he could not stay, a part of her feared parting from him. 

“Dressing,” he told her. “I want you to take your time. All the time you need. I don’t want to hear from you for at least an hour, do you understand? And afterwards, when you’ve soaked, I want you to use the lavender lotion, paying special attention to your feet, elbows, and knees. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“When the water grows cold, Abigail will be right outside this door,” he pointed to the door, “ready to fill it up at a moment’s notice. Right, Abigail?”

“Yes, sir,” Abigail said. 

“And she will help you out of the bath so you do not fall.”

Sansa nodded. 

Their eyes met and locked, and Sansa felt herself swaying into him, not understanding quite what she was feeling or doing. All she knew was that he had comforted her. He had held her and explained things to her, and now he was determined to continue on with lessons as though she was not a lost cause.

“I want to kiss your nose,” he murmured, leaning in closer to her. 

How odd. “My nose?” she asked with a furrow of her brow. 

He nodded. Hesitated. 

She didn’t tell him no as though not saying a word would not implicate her in any kind of wrongdoing and scandalous behavior. 

He kissed the tip of her nose and she found herself giggling of all things. 

He was smiling when he lifted his head, his eyes shining with something that made her belly flutter. “Don’t fall asleep,” he said huskily. 

“I won’t,” she promised. 

He left, shutting the door, and Sansa liked to think that his slow walk to the door indicated he wanted to stay. She didn’t want to admit she hoped that was the case. In any case, she enjoyed the ripple of muscle in his back she could freely admire without his knowing. 

Abigail helped her undress, taking her dress and underthings and hanging them upon a hook on the wall across the room. Once Abigail left, Sansa stared at the lavender oil and then snatched it up and made her way over to the bench. Did it have to be right there against the window?

So, she put the oil down near the bathtub and pulled the bench - it was light enough - closer to it. Then she sat down and went to work, doing as Jon had instructed. At first it was hard as her habit was to use long sweeping and circular motions, so she had to force herself to slow down and take her time. 

She’d never paid this much attention to her body. Certainly not like this. She felt embarrassed at first - a lady never did things like this. They never even acknowledged they _had_ a body or a body’s needs. Would she ever stop blushing?

After a while she did, her mind drifting to how bony her knees were. How she wasn’t as flat in the stomach as Jon was. When she reached her breasts, she decided that she couldn’t do that this time. Nor could she do her bottom or her inner thighs. Not yet. She hoped Jon would understand. What she’d done was enough for now, and more than she’d ever done before. 

The things that man could make her do…

She eased into the steaming tub, figuring it had cooled a bit but not that much. It felt good though. Heavenly, in fact. She plucked the soap from the bottom of the tub - Abigail had put it in for her - and washed up. 

And then she reclined back and sighed. Typically, at this point she’d get up and dry off. But Jon had told her to soak for a while. 

_Just try to relax,_ she thought. _You don’t have to return home right away…_ Just the idea of it filled her with a little bit of dread. She shut her eyes, aware of the tension in her body. That was something. Before, she’d never been very aware of that. She held her tension in her shoulders, in the clench of her jaw, and even her toes had curled a bit. 

She eased out a sigh and heard some birds outside chirping away. She focused on them and their song. And then slowly, ever so slowly, she relaxed. 

And then within minutes, fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa jerked awake and when she opened her eyes there was a waterfall in front of her. 

“I told you not to fall asleep.” That was Jon. 

Her mind rushed to fill in the gaps: she was in Jon’s home, she was in the tub and --

She shivered; it was cold. Abigail, the maid, was dumping a bucket of hot water in it. She felt warmth like fingers reaching her limbs and warming then. She shivered again and Abigail gazed down at her. “Another bucket is on its way, mi’lady.”

“Thank you, Abigail,” Sansa said as another maid came rushing in with said bucket and poured it in. 

“How does that feel?” Abigail asked. “Would you like another, mi’lady?”

“Get her another one.” Jon again. 

“No, no, this is fine. This is nice and warm,” Sansa said. “Thank you, Abigail.”

“Yes, mi’lday,” Abigail murmured and she and the other maid left together. She did not, however, close the door, and Sansa was about to call out for her to do just that when she spied the reason why she hadn’t. Jon was standing in the doorway, his back to her. He was still in his robe. Or again in his robe?

“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning into the side of the tub. 

“Ensuring you don’t fall asleep again,” he said dryly, clasping his hands behind his back. He was wearing loose silk pants. 

“Did you change? Are you in your sleeping wear?”

“I’m in my lounge wear.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I sleep naked. I lounge in my lounge wear before I strip for sleep.”

She sat back, reddening. “I’m not sure that was appropriate.”

“You’re not sure?” he said, amused. “I must be rubbing off on you after all.”

“Do you mean to just stand there in the open doorway where anyone can walk by and see me?”

“They won’t while I’m here.”

He was probably right about that. She lifted her hands and frowned. Her fingertips were wrinkly. Now that she was sufficiently warmed up it was time to get out. 

“Sansa?” he asked. 

“I’m ready to get out, Jon, could you close the door, please?” 

“Do you need help?”

“I hope you’re not offering,” she said. 

He chuckled. “If I thought you’d take me up on it, I would.”

She disregarded the comment; he had to be teasing her. “I will need help with my dress, but I think I can manage getting out of the tub. I’ve been bathing since I was a child and have some practice with it.”

“All the same, I believe I will stay right here lest you fall.”

“With the door closed?” she prompted. 

He sighed as he reached easily for the door knob. “Yes, darling.”

Just before the door closed he called out to her - “Don’t forget the lotion!”

She rolled her eyes as she set about climbing out of the tub. 

She was thankful for the towel placed on the floor so she wouldn’t slip, as well as the bench she’d pulled closer to the tub, and after wiping her feet on it, she crept to the corner of the room to grab a towel from the pile. 

She wrapped it around her and then padded over to the lotions and plucked the lavender one from the group and made her way back to the bench. She shivered from the cooler air and knew this was going to be a quick rub down. She yawned as she worked the lotion first into her arm and elbow. 

“Are you all right?” Jon called through the door. 

“Yes! I’m using the lotion!” she called back and then winced. That was probably not very ladylike, letting a man know what she was doing to her person. However, she’d also just taken a bath in his tub so did it even matter at this point? Probably not, but she really should keep some proprieties. 

As she worked the lotion onto her skin, her mind began to wander to Harry and she felt a lurch in her belly. Was he home by now? Would he be looking for her? Would he even care to? Or would he be as relieved as she felt to be away from him?

She stood and propped one leg upon the bench to rub lotion on her legs when there was a scratch at the door. “Yes?” she called. 

“Do you need some help dressing, mi’lady?” Abigail.

“Yes, I do, thank you,” Sansa said and the door opened. Jon was standing there, this time facing her and his eyes went wide with surprise when he saw her. She felt rather shocked by his seeing her in this state of undress and exclaimed, “Jon!”

He turned abruptly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll just -- I’ll see if our breakfast is ready yet.”

Jon hurried away as though it was his first time seeing a naked woman - or rather how he imagined an Englishman acted upon seeing a naked woman for the first time. 

He’d seen her bare legs. Her feet. Her wet hair cascading down her shoulders -- 

He shivered. Lady Sansa Hardyng was a gorgeous woman. Of course, he already knew that, but all that flesh...that skin like fine porcelain…

His cock twitched and he muttered an oath as he made his way quickly down the stairs and then down to the kitchen to make sure breakfast would be ready soon. He hurried back up to the dining room and was pleased to find it set. Was it too early for claret? Probably. 

He placed a hand on the back of a chair to steady himself and closed his eyes. 

He was trembling. With desire. 

He shook his head as if to clear it. It was because she was highborn and off limits. It was her sweet naivete. How long had it been since he’d met such an innocent? It was intoxicating. 

Did that make him wrong?

It wasn’t that he wanted to take advantage of her - never - it was just that he enjoyed guiding her on how to discover herself. English women could be so uptight and afraid of their own sexuality and the fact that they even _had_ a body, and he enjoyed leading Sansa to the discovery. 

He was practically panting at the idea of hearing how it went putting that oil on before her bath. And then to have seen her in the process of putting lotion on…

Gods. 

She and their breakfast appeared at the same time. He stared at her as she moved towards him, her brows pinched. She had her hand resting on her decolletage. “Jon, it was most inappropriate--”

“Excuse me, sir,” said a servant behind him. 

Jon looked over his shoulder to find that he was in the way of the platters being delivered to the table, and he gripped Sansa’s shoulders and pushed her backwards. The scent of lavender hit him, and he found himself leaning forward to follow the scent. 

“Jon,” she said softly. 

He looked up through hooded eyes and was surprised to find himself so close to her. “You smell divine,” he whispered. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. 

He lifted his head just a bit, keeping his gaze locked on hers. “What were you saying, darling?”

She blinked slowly, and he groaned when her gaze drifted to his lips. “I--I don’t remember.”

Gently, he pulled her hand from her decolletage and kissed her knuckles. “Shall we break our fast then?”

She nodded, blinking, and he led her, gallantly, to the table. He played the gentleman by helping her sit before taking his own seat diagonal from her at head of the table. “Would you like some hot chocolate or tea?” he asked her. 

“Hot chocolate, please,” she said primly as she placed her napkin upon her lap. 

Jon poured her a glass of hot chocolate and then tea for himself. He then gestured to the platters food - bacon, eggs, sausage, and rack of toast and said, “Help yourself, please.”

She did and then he did, and then they both sat in silence. 

“It was inappropriate for you to see me in your bathing room,” she said. “That’s what I was going to say.”

Jon leaned forward, elbow on the table and fork in hand. “Does it really matter about improprieties at this point, Sansa?”

She lifted her chin. “Some still matter.”

“How do you feel?” he asked, not wishing to get into which ones. He already knew them. He felt them like a wall when he wanted to touch her. 

She sighed as she placed her fork down on the table and looked at him. “Afraid.”

“You fell asleep in my bath,” he said, stabbing a piece of sausage. “I would suggest that meant you felt the opposite of afraid. Some might say you were very relaxed indeed.”

“How am I going to go home to Harry, Jon?” she asked quietly. “What am I going to do?”

He chewed and swallowed and then set his fork down. “What do you want to do, love?”

She smiled wistfully. “Stay here forever and hide. Can I do that?”

“You feel safe with me,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact, and one that he was just fully realizing. 

She looked surprised, as though she was just realizing it as well. And, she probably was. “Yes,” she whispered. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She started to reach for her hot chocolate. “It was silly.”

Jon’s hand jutted out and grabbed hers. “No,” he said hoarsely. 

She looked at him and their eyes met and held. 

“No,” he said again and squeezed her hand. 

She held his gaze for as long as she could bear it, and then whispered, “No.”

He nodded once, and they tucked back into their breakfast, a comfortable silence falling between them.


End file.
